


'Lil Alfie!

by Tynni



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, I need to stop drinking, No grammar, Originated in Korea, Practically useless, Random oneshot, Recreational Drug Use, Songfic, Stupidity, crackiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tynni/pseuds/Tynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada gets to spend time with his brother for a couple of days. SongFic - Lily Allen 'Alfie'....Random crap. Stereotypes and  nonsense. Rated for language</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Lil Alfie!

**Author's Note:**

> So I figured making a song fic would be fun...after drinking....heavily. 
> 
> Worst.Idea.Ever
> 
> But it did help clear my head a bit to work on my other piece.

 

 

_Ooh deary me_

_My little brother's in his bedroom smoking weed_

_I tell him he should get up ‘cause it's nearly half past three_

_He can't be bothered ‘cause he's high on THC…_

 

“Alfred?” I knocked heavily.

The only response I received was a groan from the other side of the door. Sounded something like ‘go away’, but he wouldn’t say that. At least not if he valued his border safety. This was my house and I’d be damned if I did use my connections with Poland to teach my _adorable_ brother some manners.

Merde. I sounded like England.

…

Not that that is a problem or anything.

Next thought train s'il vous plaît!

Anywho, here I was, trying to wake up my brother, who had locked himself in his room. Which, is fine. Except, it was well past time for him to get up. Actually, more like a few hours past noon. Unacceptable. I had made a large breakfast just to accommodate him after he asked {read: barged unannounced into my house demanding I put him up for the weekend} to come over, allowed him to partake in my goods {read: he learned that ‘Canadia’ whiskey is good shit, especially the new one with maple}, then took care of him when he was unable to perform basic functions {read: I had to help him to the bathroom…and use it}. I shuddered remembering the previous night. I never thought we could be closer than we were before.

But again…I digress.

Back to the door.

And the lock.

And my glare…Alfred couldn’t see it, but if he could.

Well, ask Germany about that one…hehehe.

Tabernac, the door. It wasn’t opening. So I did what any good brother would do.

I violated his sense of security and the brotherly trust we had spent centuries building….I used the master key.

Smoke? No. Not just any smoke…

That bastard.

“You know…” I started patiently, because that’s who I am. I am Canada, bringer of peace and shit. “if you wanted to get high…you could just legalize it in your own country.”

I smiled. It was cracked and not so friendly, but I tried.

“…But Mattie….It’s immoral to smoke in the USA! It’s like sex in church! Plus you get Holland’s secret stash. He won’t share with me. You know I love you though.”

Okay. That last part I made up. I kinda glazed over after he practically called my land profane and blasphemous (in lesser words), but also because, I couldn’t understand a damn thing coming out of his mouth. It sounded more like ‘You fuck around with Tulip-Man and he pays you with good shit. I don’t know where he lives, so I can’t get any. I love this show’. But he wouldn’t say that….right? This was my house after all.

“Matttieeeeee…I have cotton-mouth!

 

_I ask him very nicely if he'd like a cup of tea_

_I can't even see him ‘cause his room is so smoky_

_Don't understand how one can watch so much TV_

_My baby brother Alfie how I wish that you could see_

 

Serves you right, eh?

Yes…my inner monolog just said ‘eh’. Problem?

I’m Canadian!

….no, wait. Stereotypes. Scratch that please. Sorry.

…..

Shut up.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I said this because ‘kindly suck my balls’ didn’t seem to be the appropriate to say to your high as fuck _brother._ So I settled for the next best thing.

“Hell no!” Pushing it. I doubted he could see my face through the haze, but I was starting to scare myself. Hockey season. WWII, and lumberjacks danced through my head like fucking sugar plum fairies of destruction.

Okay, you American shithead, remember _those_ things that I kept from England out of my love for you.

Yea…

1930, remember that little bitch fit of yours? I sure do. I wonder if Arthur knew the real reason you did that. Encourage industry my ass. You were just pissy he didn’t take you with his friends to drink.

I’m not a tattle-tale. I know that’s what you’re thinking. This is much more manly, strategic, and hardcore. This is blackmail.

Anyway. How did I reply to his smart little mouth? Well, I put on my big boy pants and told him to ‘GTFO’

“Well then” I felt my face twitch as my mouth twisted into a gentle smile that didn’t reach my dilated eyes. “Come downstairs so we can figure out what you want…..please”

 

 

_I only say it ‘cause I care_

_So please can you stop pulling my hair?_

_Now now there's no need to swear_

_Please don't despair my dear mon frère_

I finally got him down to the kitchen. There was some stumbling, bone breaking, and hair pulling. Do.Not.Pull.My.Hair! Especially.....well, you don't need to know, okay.

Not that it was too much for a country as powerful as me. Don’t forget ‘lil Alfie, I gave you Justin Beiber and Nickleback. I will do it again. Don't tempt me.

Do you think this is a bloody game?!

Shit. More England in me.

That sounded bad.

Stop squealing. If anything _I_ would be in _him_! I mean seriously. I’m manly Canada! We jump ass naked into sub-zero waters for fun! What does that pansy bastard have? Huh?! Pirates? I had Vikings!

Wait

Why am I even.

Whatever.

Point being. Stop.

Now, for those of you who were paying attention to the actual story, you may have realized I was a tinny bit upset. Not too much, but if I could just find an ax laying around in my kitchen.

Not that I do or anything

But now that bastard was slumped over the kitchen table, demanding I make him food. I thought he called me a bad host, but that was my imagination, right?

So defenseless.

One or two limbs wouldn’t hurt, non?

Whatever. I am the better of us. So I would just leave it at visualizations.

Vivid ones.

_Oh so vivid._

While I had the ….hallucinations, I went to work reheating the excess breakfast and pouring a glass of milk. The kind from a bag. Yes, we have it. Jealous?

I ended up shoving a fork down his throat on accident, when I heard something that sounded like complaining about recooked foods.

“Fuck Matt. Did Arthur make these?”

I think it’s time for a hike.

Yes.

A nice long one deep into the Canadian wilderness.

~~Unfortunately his survival instincts were still working and…~~

Alfred didn’t want to go.

 

 

_Ooh Alfie get up it's a brand new day_

_I just can’t sit back and watch you waste your life away_

_You need to get a job because the bills need to get paid_

_Get off your lazy arse Alfie please use your brain_

The next day promised to be better.

I confiscated ~~his~~  my items from the room and locked the liquor cabinets.

We had a meeting today (on a fucking sunday?! Who wrote this?!) and I was not going to be blamed for an inebriated Alfred. They hated dealing with the regular one well enough, thank you.

So, I got up. Seven on the dot. Two whole hours before we needed to leave.

Which was more than enough.

You know how I wanted to go on that hike? Well, not to brag or anything, but my wilderness is the shit. Beautiful fucking fields of green. Blue skies and snowy mountains. Have you ever seen pictures of me all natural? Look that up!

With safe search, please.

I found out aboot this thing Japan does. Yaiu. Yuoi, AEIOU….IDK! Just stay away from it.

About….about about……

See how serious I am. Stay away!

Anyway. Look at your country, now back at me, back at your country….now at me. Sadly. You aren’t in Canada (unless you are, then why are you here? Go hike, canoe, or wrestle a moose! Maudit!). You should move here. It’s pretty cool.

But because of my expected splendor, I don’t have to work much in the mornings. Just suit up and go.

Yet, I had more than me today. Joy.

Long story short…it sucked

I practically pulled Alfred out of bed.

He’s a big boy!

Once I got him up and dressed (what am I, his papa?), we finally left.

One hour late.

Plus we still had to stop at the greasy joint that I won’t mention because I might get fat on my brain just for thinking of it.

And I didn’t want to be sued for misuse of the copyright. American’s are so touchy with everything. Drop your pen? Insult against the company who cut the tree to make the plastic packaging that the pen came in! Lawsuit!

So, anywho, when we _finally_ made it, Alfie dearest had to be….oh.so.American.

I mean seriously. I have my moments, and I apologize for that…for some reason.

But he couldn’t be any more clichéd if he tried. Which I don’t think he ever has….at anything…at least not since 1812. We don’t talk about that.

One moment.

And no I’m not tearing up. I was just washing my eyes. I can do that because I have the worlds largest water supply! I could almost sweat myself clean.

Eww.

Okay. Mental images. Done.

Now let me give you one.

Alfred F. Jones. America. Leader of The Free World. Super Power. Walked. Strutted. (Who struts anymore?!) into the meeting like he owned the place. Last time I checked, the meeting was in OTTOWA. Now, what you really should focus on is the fact that he was dressed normally, I made sure of that. _‘No Al, you can’t be the pink ranger today…No, I have nothing against men wearing pink…..WHAT THE HELL…I let them get married!’_. But as he burst in with is normal hero speech (and I was glared down as the late host country), he managed to pull a cape out of his ass.

What?

I don’t know if it _literally_ came from his ass. I don’t want to know. I will never ask. I already have a creepy feeling Japan is reading my brain and writing one of _those_ stories detailing how such an object got stuck ….there. Illustrations and instructions included. Probably in six different colors and a flavors. Don’t ask.

Also, I won’t describe the meeting either. My brain hurts. Between England yelling and France asking ‘why we came together ohonhonhon’ I just allowed myself to gracefully relax in my chair {read: flopped down like a dead fish and face-desked so hard to attempt to knock myself into blissful unconsciousness}.

 

_Surely there's some walls out there that you can go and spray_

_I'm feeling guilty here for leading you astray_

_Now how the hell do you ever expect that you'll get laid_

_When all you do is stay in playin’ your computer games?_

It had worked too.

 

For half the meeting. Then I was awakened by a sharp yelp and something dripping into my lap.

I didn’t wanna know. I reallllly didn’t. However, when I heard Al’s laugh and the threat of nuclear retaliation, I had to. That radiation shit is really hard to get out of your drapes and it spreads faster than syphilis after prom.

And then I saw it.

Everywhere.

On the walls

The ceiling

Me…then again...this room was in me (shut.up.)

Red and White. Perfect

And Blue….paint.

How? What? ...WHY?!

**_Snap_ **

Huh? What was that?

Oh well... 

I sighed. The manliest most distressed sigh you would ever hear in your life. I don’t remember much afterwards, but I can give you a rundown of the security camera, second hand accounts, and police reports.

I stood up.

“Fils de pute! Ta gueule, bâtards! I swear I will shove a hockey stick so far up your ass you’ll shit pucks!”

See that?! Multilingualism! Can you’re country do that?! Europe…don’t speak.

After this, I proceed to kick ass and take names. Except Russia’s. I don’t need his name, he can keep it for now. Besides, we aren’t on too bad of terms. Maybe even friends. Or hate-on-America-at-the-bar buddies.

Actually, I really focused on one person. If our father figures were going to do anything, then I was. I was already screwed as I had borrowed this room from my boss with the promise of keeping things orderly. Now it was painted-

-In three colors that did not look good mixed together.

I promptly stomped over to my brother, who had tangled himself up with Korea, who was groping their chests, shouting nonsense…and Japan, who was demanding a marriage contract.

I put on my no-time-for-your-moose-shit face. Serious stuff. Ripped, yes ripped, him from the Asians, tossing him against the wall.

 

 

_Oh little brother please refrain from doing that_

_I'm trying to help you out so can you stop being a twat?_

_It's time that you and I sat down and had a little chat_

_And look me in the eyes take off that stupid fitted cap_

 

Ignoring the sudden camera snaps I got from Hungary and Japan, I leaned in close (no bromo).

“Alfie….did you make this mess” I asked. Sweet as fresh maple syrup. He looked a little nervous with me treating him like a kid. Did he get the point?

“AHAHA.” Yes, his stupid laugh had its own spelling. “….umm …nope! It was…” his eyes darted around for a moment. “Sealand! Silly kid and his flag!”

Oh Alfie….Alfie. Did he realize how stupid he was? I don’t think so. Or at least that’s what I would have thought. After all, I don’t remember what happened. If I did, my insanity plea would fall through…

So I gently explained to him the national colors of Sealand, who could be considered our little brother. I ~~wondered~~ would have probably wondered (because I don't remember _any_ of this)if he knew my national colors….or Britains….or anyone elses. In fact, I don't believe he even knows Sealand is a ~~country~~ ....place. I bet he was just putting words together and came up with that name.

“Now then. You are going to clean this up. Apologize to-“ I vice-gripped that bastards face when he tried to look away for help. “Regarde-moi. Apologize to everyone. And you will behave.”

Quiet. Silent. Did he die? No. Damn.

“Eh?” I guess my thoughtful glace at Russia didn’t go unnoticed because he quickly came back to the living, nodding his head, and started shouting again, rallying help to get the room in order.

 

 

I grinned happily.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the song or Hetalia (saving up for it)
> 
> 1930 reference - Smoot-Hawley Tariff...just cause
> 
> Maudit- From what I understand, it means something like, Damn.  
> Fils de pute! Ta gueule, bâtards - Son of a bitch! Shut up, Bastards.  
> Regarde-moi - look at me
> 
> Sealand is Red White....and black.
> 
> I'm done...can I pass out now? /(.__.)/


End file.
